Older and Wiser

It's interesting to look back on your childhood and take notice of the memories that come to mind. I remember my mom standing at the stove, making hot fudge. I also remember that at the end of a hot summer day, we would bathe and then sit at the counter while she cut up strawberries and placed them in milk. To this day, the smell of strawberries reminds me of summer.

I also remember watching my mom prepare for church lessons, and I can still vividly see the quilt she made before my sister was born. Always present in my childhood thoughts, are those moments when she would smack the wooden spoon on the counter to try and get us to "knock it off". What I can't recall, is if that tactic ever worked.

My mom moved me into my college dorm and in unison, we stared in awe at my roommate who was the absolute opposite of me. She called, she wrote checks and I'm sure she prayed. A lot. She came when my life got messy and she stayed away when she knew I had to learn and grow on my own. She has held every one of my newborns and stayed up late into the night. For better or worse, she has even taught a grandchild or two a potty word.

She has hiked The Narrows in Zions Canyon and she has traveled to Australia, London and Dubai. Each night, before she falls asleep, she lists each LDS temple based on its geographic location. In her normal, everyday communication, she tends to use the word 'anyways' way too much. Oh, and she has an inclination to use a ridiculous amount of bowls when she cooks.

Today is my mom's birthday. I'm thrilled for her, because this year she is an 'even' number. She says she is just one year closer to 70 (which is another 'even' number, I reminded her). But today, as I celebrate her, I also look back at the time she was a mother who was facing the same stages I face now. And in my reminiscing, I don't remember much of the fighting or the times we were mad at one another. I simply remember that she was there. Always. Doing the little things, like cutting up strawberries and placing them in a bowl of milk. Somehow all her little things now seem like big things. And that, is something to celebrate.

Happy Birthday Mom.
Enjoy your Even year.